


where the meaning was

by pocky_slash



Series: Iowa [3]
Category: West Wing
Genre: College, Iowa, M/M, Post-Canon, Teaching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-04
Updated: 2007-07-04
Packaged: 2017-11-14 18:43:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash





	where the meaning was

The first day of school, Sam meets Will for lunch at the Student Union. Classes don't officially start until the next day, so the tables around them are still packed with parents and nervous-looking freshman. Will smiles indulgently at them the same way he sometimes smiles at Sam while Sam tends to the small garden he's taken over behind the house.

"I love September," Sam says, reaching over to steal a cherry tomato off of Will's plate.

"Clearly you've never had to try and learn the names of a seminar full of undergrads before," Will says, but his smile goes soft and Sam smiles back. He's finally used to the idea of Iowa and home and Will all being the same thing. He's finally used to the idea that he can hold Will's hand and not have it end up on the front page of a tabloid.

"I TAed a class my senior year," Sam says. "I mostly got by on my good looks and charm and the professor's seating chart." Will laughs, eyes cast downward, then across the room, then finally back on Sam's.

"I called you because there's something I wanted to talk to you about," he says. He looks away to pick at his salad and shoots Sam a wry smile. "Not that I don't like seeing you just because."

Sam nods. He had figured as much.

"Millie--do you remember Millie Buckley?--well, she just found out she's pregnant and probably not going to be able to finish the semester, but she'll definitely need the spring term off and they're looking to hire an adjunct..." He looks back at Sam and bites his lip. "It's a handful of writing classes, it's easy stuff and I just... I said I'd ask."

What Will doesn't say is, _I can't stand to see you so idle_ and _I miss your writing_ and _I'm less worried than I was but more worried than I should be._ Sam can feel those words hovering just beneath the place where Will is worrying his upper lip with his teeth, though, and when he says, "Let me think about it," it has more to do with easing the creases marring Will's forehead than his own desire to dive into academia.

***

After lunch, Sam wanders around town, trying not to think too hard. He manages to pick up something he can use to cobble together dinner and while he's slicing cucumbers, he thinks about the Iowa sky.

"I'm not afraid of confinement," he says after dinner. They hadn't talked about it over dinner because that's the way they operate. They both compartmentalize, and it makes things like supper conversation easy, even when things like this are worrying the back of Sam's mind.

"I didn't say anything," Will says. They're on the couch, listening to the dishwasher hum in the other room while they watch _Jeopardy_. He strokes Sam's hair. "You don't look like you're afraid of confinement." Sam looks down at the way their bodies are twisted together and feels overcome by a rush of maudlin affection. He presses his face into Will's neck.

"I'm not," he says. "Not here."

 _Not by you,_ he doesn't say.

Will just hums softly in response and turns off the teevee.

***

"It's not," Sam says on Saturday afternoon, once a conversation about baseball has died down, "that I have anything against teaching."

"I would hope not," Will says. He doesn't look up from his laptop.

"I just... I mean, do you really think I would be any good at it?"

He wouldn't, not really. He knows this. He never knows what to say to people when he first meets them, can never find a way to balance his personality, his need to make everyone happy, and a respectful professionalism. The first time he met Will, Sam told him his sister was hot about ten words into their conversation. The first time he met President Bartlet, he complimented him on his tie and went off on a five minute tangent about traditional necktie knots. He'd never be able to get through a lesson plan, not coherently.

Will closes his laptop and stands up. He places a tender kiss on the crown on Sam's head.

"I think you have a habit of being spectacular at things you're passionate about," he says. "I'm going to check on the cat."

Sam watches him walk out the back door, listens to him berate Jackson for trying to lick his stitches again, and wonders how he ended up in Iowa, anyway.

***

(He doesn't actually wonder, not really. He knows every step exactly. He still remembers what Will's eyes looked like that first day. He still remembers what the whiskey felt like the night he quit his job in Chicago. He still remembers that he's hard pressed to think of a single other place on the planet he'd like to be, and he's still terrified every time he realizes it.)

***

"There's no window in Millie's office," Sam says the next time he has lunch on campus. Will is grading quizzes, and Sam should feel worse about that because it's maybe his fault that Will doesn't have them done yet.

"It's a nice office," Will says. He has a pen cap in his mouth, so it comes out garbled. "There's a lot of closet space."

"It's just that I like looking out the window at home," Sam says. "I like the clouds here. The sky's a nice color. I don't know how I feel about walls."

"Nice try," Will says. He takes the cap out of his mouth and adds, "Should I give partial credit for the answer, 'that other Roosevelt guy?'"

"Teddy Roosevelt didn't like walls," Sam says. "He went out west after the war to commune with nature and rough it."

"I don't think you're going to be killing any bears soon, Sam." Will puts a small red 'x' next to question number six and finally looks up. He's got the wry sort of smile on his face that means he knows how this conversation is going to end. Not how it's going to end today, maybe not even tomorrow, but he knows that Sam is going to give in and he's just letting the argument run its course.

Sam hates that look, and in retaliation, he steals both Will's cookies once he goes back to grading quizzes.

***

"...and class structure is just so rigid at the undergrad level," Sam is saying. "I don't know if my mind can handle it right now."

Will sighs. Sam can feel it against his sternum.

"Sam, you just melted my brain," he mumbles. "I know I don't really need to be conscious for this conversation, but could you just have it in your head for a few minutes? You're ruining my afterglow."

Sam frowns and stops rubbing Will's shoulder. He's suddenly deeply hurt by the idea that Will thinks that all of his ranting about this is pointless, betrayed and hurt and incredibly girly. He hates when Will gets like this, because it's really more of the same, isn't it? No one took him seriously at the White House, no one took him seriously when he ran for Congress, no one took him seriously in his life after Washington and now here he is, in a life he's so close to thinking is perfect, being completely dismissed by his--whatever the fuck Will was. It's enough to ruin _his_ afterglow, that's for sure, and he's frighteningly close to shoving Will off his chest so he can pout.

"Why is it such a foregone conclusion that you're right and I'm wrong and you're going to win?" He tries to keep his tone even, but he can tell by the way that Will slowly opens one eye that some of his offense must be shining through.

"Do you really want to know?" Will asks.

Sam stares at him and says nothing.

Will groans and shifts and the second he's pulling away, Sam's sorry that he said anything because even though it's still September, he goes distinctly cold once Will's body moves away.

Will props himself up on an elbow and looks at Sam. "When you like an idea, when you're curious, when you really want something, even if you don't realize it yet, you're mouth does this..." He raises his other hand and holds it in front of Sam's mouth. "It quirks in this particular way. No matter how nervous I am asking you something or how opposed you seem to an idea, once you're mouth does that, I know it's just a matter of time." He touches Sam's bottom lip. "I let you talk it out on your own, usually, because you've always been good at selling yourself on ideas."

Sam is dumbfounded. He doesn't know what to say or do and he's utterly stunned that he has such an easy tell. He touches his own mouth unconciously, just as Will is lowering himself to the bed and stretching himself out against Sam's side. He lets loose a jaw-cracking yawn and closes his eyes.

"You know, Sam," he says, "I know writer's block feels like a trap, but all of these excuses you keep giving? They might be better at letting you out than you think."

Sam strokes the back of Will's head and doesn't say anything, but he starts to think about class structure and writing exercises. Will smiles in his sleep, as if he can read Sam's mind and, not for the first time, Sam wonders if he really can.


End file.
